Now here's a bit of a poser for you. Imagine that you are an actor. No, not an actor – an acTORRR, the kind of person who refers to your job as, not work (yuhdoansay), but "a craft." Both you and your detractors refer to you as a "thespian", though perhaps not using the same tone of voice.

Imagine you are so far up your own arse that your head actually pops back up through your throat and that you actually insist on being called Sir Ben, at all times, always, even (I like to think) in bed with a lady.

Now imagine you are cast in a movie which involves you and your 64 year-old body getting it on with 22 year-old Mary-Kate Olsen. How to maintain the aura of cultural superiority then, hmmmm, Mr Kingsley, sorry, I mean Sir Ben?

Easy: you play a stoner. Playing a druggie is the 21st century's equivalent of playing someone who's disabled – the clear Oscar baiter and proof of one's abilities.

Considering how much actual experience most people in the acting community have had, at the very least, with people who take drugs, it's always interesting how badly it is portrayed on screen: with Joaquin Phoenix in Cash, it apparently involved punching a wall occasionally, which didn't look like much fun. With Sir Ben in The Wackness, being a stoner means wearing truly unfortunate headwear. And, apparently, shagging twentysomething millionaires. Well, at least they're halfway right.

To be honest, this movie doesn't look so bad, mainly because it's got the cool friend from Juno in it. And I don't have anything against the Olsen twins: when I was growing up in the States, the two of them provided me with plenty of pleasure as the infant Michelle on the tragically now defunct sit-"com", Full House. And if they occasionally don't want to eat for, apparently, months at a time and dress like homeless women, hell, it's no skin off my nose.

Of course I have nothing but sympathy for anyone who seems to find eating more difficult than not eating, but seeing as they probably don't want my help on that front, unlike all the gossip magazines who are so obsessed with skinny celebrities, I don't take it as a personal affront to me or as a bar that I myself should measure up to.

So no, I don't object to the casting of Mary-Kate in a movie that is aimed at a demographic over the age of five. I do, however, object to watching her shag Gandhi almost as much as I object to seeing Sir Ben Kingsley dressed up like Blake Fielder-Civil. Both of these images have traumatised me in ways that no amount of intravenous drugs shall ever resolve.